down to childishness, though she had been the merest child then, and now that she was a woman she saw how inexcusable and silly her conduct had been. Well, she would do her best to avoid him, but if she should meet him she would then do her best to convince him that she was a different being from that ridiculous, sentimental child! Perhaps he would not recognize her; she had altered and even grown in the past four years, and it might be; but then she thought of the utter impossibility of her having forgotten him. His image, tall, elegant, full of a strange repose that she had seen in no one else, rose before her mind's eye now, and, supposing his memory to be even half as good as hers, that hope was out of the question. She seemed to see before her now the keen, dark face, with the penetrating eyes, whose beauty only those on whom he had looked tenderly could guess, the refined features, the well-kept dark hair and moustache, the exquisite white teeth, on one of which there was a little flaw that she knew well, and the slow smile. She seemed to hear the low, clear-ringing voice, and to feel the caressing hand-clasp. And to think he was again so near her! Was there ever anything so wonderful? At one moment she felt sorry, and asked herself why she was not glad, and at another, when she felt glad, she accused herself for not being sorry.
Your perceptions are not of the most delicate order, reader, if you think Stella was in love with this man. It was not that. He was simply the manly ideal of a fastidious and ignorant young girl with an enthusiastic temperament and keen sensibilities. She would probably have admired him as much had he never taken the pains to notice her; but since he had been kind and thoughtful of her, he had won from her a stronger feeling than admiration, and even set vibrating within her certain chords that lay very close around her heart: but what might have been never was, and now the strongest feeling she had about him—stronger than her perception of his charm or her recollection of his kindness—was intense indignation against him for having made her cry, and mortification at his having seen her weakness. There was only one reason for her really wishing to see him, and when she thought of that she felt impatient for the meeting; and that was that he might be made aware of the wide difference between the foolish child of four years ago and the matured young woman of to-day! Perhaps, if she could persuade him of that, it would be worth while to endure the undesirable agitation of meeting him. For it would agitate her, and she was getting on so contentedly and quietly now, so firmly settled in the old monotonous routine of home-life. But, no matter what her inward perturbation might be, she was not afraid of self-betrayal. She had implicit trust in the strength of her incentive to calmness and composure.
